when every word becomes numb and my ears ring drums like bright fluorescent lighting or the way fever pitches then you and i resolve ourselves into more or less pornographic and if i could stop the thud the swell of the quake of your eyes nights pinning me into lifelike memories of myself six maybe seven years ago when i was less blind and more dumb then maybe these empty bottle nights might mean something more then maybe i wouldn't keep searching for you always at the end of all my fingertips


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